


Impropriety (will get you everywhere)

by gentlezombie



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Control Issues, Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlezombie/pseuds/gentlezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke discovers Anders writing his manifesto in Hawke's journal, in an improper state of dress. Retribution is imminent. Featuring a somewhat dominant sarcastic!Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impropriety (will get you everywhere)

**Author's Note:**

> In a burst of courage brought on by Yuletide, I'm owning up to some old stuff, because I realised I hadn't posted anything for my main fandom! This was written for the DA kinkmeme in the summer; the prompt was something about Anders wearing Hawke's shirt.

Hawke bounded the stairs two at a time, coins jingling merrily in his purse. Even though they now had an estate and a respectable fortune, Hawke still loved the feel of gold in his nimble fingers, and the messy business with the bandits had paid well. He didn't exactly need the gold, but Varric hadn't nicknamed him "Magpie" for nothing.

Besides, even if he hadn't a use for the gold, Anders certainly did - that old coat was an atrocity, only held together by an assortment of pesky buckles Hawke had cursed on several occasions, and he supposed the clinic could use some touching up too. He was whistling, hopelessly out of tune, as he opened the door to his bedroom.

And stopped.

Hawke was the first to admit that he was easily distracted. Shiny things, blond things, pretty things, he was exactly as easy as Isabela claimed. As it was, the sight of Anders sitting at Hawke's desk, bent over his writing with that feverish blush on his cheeks he got when _defending the oppressed_ , dressed only in a shirt that by a miracle left something to the imagination, was enough for Hawke to forget entirely what he'd been planning to do, only certain that it had very much to do with the blond mage.

Anders was wearing Hawke's shirt. _His shirt_. In _his bedroom_. The surge of possessiveness hit him by surprise. The inadequate dress revealed an expanse of pale skin, and Hawke had trouble taking his eyes off. Anders had his ankles crossed, his toes curled against the chill, and he did have a pair of long, long legs... Andraste, why was he finding this hotter than actual nakedness?

Maybe hearing the catch in Hawke's breathing or the rush of blood down south, Anders turned and saw him standing at the doorway and smiled at him distractedly.

"Oh, I didn't expect you back this early. I'd have gone home but I got this perfect argument I've been trying to get down on paper... Hawke? Is everything alright?"

Turning around had not improved modesty at all, and Hawke was aware that he wasn't exactly talking to Anders's face, something he should have been embarrassed about. Probably. At a later time. As it was, he was proud of his ability to deliver his next words with some pointedness.

"Is that my journal you're writing in, wearing my shirt, in my bedroom?"

Anders blinked, then looked guiltily at the ink-smeared pages. "I didn't think you'd mind... I'm sorry if I presumed -"

That was all wrong and Hawke should have seen it coming, Anders's need to apologize for everything, usually in advance.

"You do realise I expect you to pay rent, right?" Hawke cut him off, throwing Anders his best sleazy grin. Anders looked briefly stunned, dragged from his mission back to Hawke's theatrics, but he caught on quickly enough, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as Hawke sauntered over the floor, already opening the buckles of his armour.

"And here I thought you were my noble benefactor," Anders retorted as Hawke settled unceremoniously in his lap.

"Well, I am noble, and I could work on benevolence... for the right pay." Hawke's leather-clad fingers slipped beneath Anders's tunic, skimming over his shoulders and the too-prominent collarbones.

"How noble of you." Hawke loved Anders's smirk. It lit up his brown eyes with a roguish glint, hinting at  the humour and less-than-stellar morals still lurking beneath the surface. That smirk always reminded Hawke of why they were together in the first place, more than any declarations of love. More importantly, it made Hawke believe all the tales of debauchery Isabela had told of the Pearl in Denerim. Well, almost all of them. "What sort of a payment did you have in mind?"

"Blowjobs," Hawke said decisively. "Lots of 'em."

"Couldn't you at least _try_ to surprise me every now and then?"

And Hawke simply couldn't let that slide, which resulted in him manhandling the mage to the bed, leaving behind scattered pages and an overturned chair. Anders's half-dressed state provided ample opportunities to a thief with wandering hands, and the mage bitched loudly at this unfairness amidst his panting. They ended up on bed the with Hawke draped over his back, trailing hot kisses and bites down Anders's neck, the shirt rucked up between them. Anders's hips quivered against the bed as Hawke's hands skimmed over his arse, the rogue's thumbs sliding teasingly between his cheeks.

"I still can't say I'm all that surprised," Anders said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"I'll need to work harder, then," Hawke purred and bit at the mage's ear, just on the sharp side of playful. With one sharp tug, he pulled the shirt up, revealing the pale expanse of Anders's back and effectively trapping his hands. Anders let his breath hiss out and glared at Hawke over his shoulder, but really, what had the mage thought Hawke would do with the knowledge that his boyfriend maybe kinda very much liked being tied up?

"Spread your legs, love," Hawke said quietly, no trace of a smirk in his voice now. That always worked wonders on Anders.

Anders did so, raising his hips a bit but keeping his hands in place above his head. Good. Hawke knelt between Anders's legs, his own knees pushing the mage's thighs further apart. Anders was breathing heavily now, and Hawke could feel the tension in the mage's thighs. Maker, but he was pretty like this, flushed and spread and bound, like a present wrapped up just for Hawke.

"You like knowing what to do, don't you?" Hawke said conversationally, trailing one finger along Anders's spine. "Somebody tying you up and telling you."

Anders let out a noise that could have been agreement, but more likely a reaction to Hawke's finger pressing teasingly against his hole before moving down between the mage's legs to caress his balls.

"Suppose it's fair, after you go rebelling all day, spreading your rebellion even into my _personal_ journal. So this is what I want you to do. I want you right there, all spread out for me, and I want you to stop holding back."

Anders opened his mouth to protest, and Hawke slapped his thigh, earning a surprised yelp. He fisted his hand in Anders's hair, tight enough to sting, and turned the mage's head to see his face.

"I don't want to hear about Justice or demons or anything else that's got you on your toes all the bloody time. It's you and me in this bed. Nothing else."

For a moment, Anders's eyes were unreadable, and Hawke felt a pang of uncertainty, but then he felt his lover relax against the sheets. Hawke grinned. They were still good, that's what they were. He pressed his cheek against Anders's back for a moment, heard the rapid heartbeat, could almost taste the anticipation. He resisted the urge to ground his hips against Anders's arse, because that would have been the end of his self-control.

Hawke lay a line of possessive bites along Anders's spine, all the way to the small of his back and then lower, delighting in the way the mage squirmed under him. After one final, harder bite, Hawke spread Anders's cheeks and stopped for a while, keeping his lover exposed and opened up.

"What are you _doing_ –" Anders ground out, blushing furiously at Hawke just _looking_ at him like that, then whimpered as Hawke blew hot air against his hole.

Hawke started out with tiny, maddening licks that had Anders cursing and trying to rub against the sheets. Hawke did nothing to stop him; this abandon was exactly what he'd been going for. He licked one last stripe across Anders's hole with the flat of his tongue and then went for the dirtiest kiss imaginable, letting his teeth graze at the rim every now and then while his lips and tongue drove the mage to incoherence.

"Hawke, Hawke –!" Anders cried out, his hands tangled in the shirt and straining the fabric, as Hawke's tongue stabbed shallowly in and out of him. Hawke knew Anders couldn't get enough friction against his aching cock to get off, and while the mage could've freed himself at any moment, he was choosing to believe in the illusion of control, which made it as real as it needed to be.

"What's that?" Hawke asked, stopping for a while to caress Anders's cheek and stubbled jaw before pushing two fingers into the mage's mouth.

"I can't – I need to –" The plea turned into a groan at the feel of Hawke's fingers pushing slowly inside  while he continued to lick and tease at the rim with his tongue.

"You need to stop trying," Hawke said, his own voice rough with want. "Let me, love. That's all."

It was so very worth it when Anders finally melted against the bed, the only points of tension his hands twisting in their bonds every now and then and the unconscious movements of his hips against the sheets and back towards Hawke. The sense of urgency, of time, was gone; overwhelmed by sensation, Anders was only reacting, letting shudders of pleasure shake his body and unselfconscious noises spill from his lips.

It was too much for Hawke. All plans of holding out and taking it slow were obliterated at the sight of his lover completely lost in pleasure, messy blond hair falling on feverish cheeks, a total lack of control and care. He crooked his fingers deliberately, drawing a keening moan from Anders, and finally took hold of the mage's cock, allowing him to fuck into the circle of Hawke's hand. All it took was a couple more well-placed twists of his fingers before Anders came, moaning helplessly, contracting around Hawke's fingers in a way that had the rogue grinding his own hips against the bed.

After Anders had quieted down and slumped rather bonelessly on the bed, it didn't take long for Hawke to jerk off, reaching to kiss and bite at his lover's neck and shoulder. He bit down with a savage rush of possessiveness, hard enough to bruise, however futile that was on a healer. Hawke wasn't thinking about that when he came. Blessedly, he wasn't thinking anything at all.

"So, what brought this on?" Anders asked a good while later when he had prodded and shoved at Hawke to get him off his back and they were both in a pleasant semi-aware state, tangled in sweat-damp sheets that didn't feel uncomfortable yet.

"You were wearing my shirt," Hawke said, as if that explained everything. He wasn't about to start soul-searching here; the mage wouldn't have liked it any more than him, and there had been enough things laid in the open already. Anders stared at him, then succumbed to the smile straining the corners of his mouth.

"You do know you're a possessive bastard, right?"

Hawke agreed wholeheartedly, nuzzling at the bruise he had left at the junction of Anders's neck and shoulder. Of course he knew Anders was his, from the declarations of love and bloody murder should anything happen to Hawke, but all the same it never hurt to lay your claim every now and then.

And if Anders left the estate wearing one of Hawke's shirts, a loose blue tunic with a wide-cut collar, and a smile like the cat who got the cream, well that was just coincidence, was all.


End file.
